Oh, Death
by adogdaylife
Summary: Just a one shot of one of my favorite scenes - from Death's perspective. 5.21 I don't own the characters.


The sky was angry, dark, the wind that gave the city its name, kicking it up at least ten miserable notches. A tornado of trash and leaves swirled through rusted beams that were barely clinging to the painted columns of the elevated train structure. The smooth steel wheels of the train slid against the rails, offering metallic screeches to the street below. There was electricity in the air, something unexplainable that weighed heavily on the atmosphere. People dashed across the boulevard, wanting to get out of whatever elements were about to pour down on them.

An engine rumbled loudly and lazily as it pulled into view, moving a hair breath away from the curb before shifting into park. Strips of polished chrome carried a long line across the smooth curves that ended in a thick band of shined metal that caressed the wide eyed headlights, fading back into the jagged teeth of the equally polished grille, and finally disappearing into the slick line of the rear bumper. The hardtop ended in polished chrome that was punctuated by two wedges of glass, the curve of the rear window smoothly transitioning into the trunk of the car. The rims flickered with light in the deep black rubber of the freshly washed wheels, each spoke carefully removed of the harshness of the road.

The door swung open, a dark polished shoe gripping the cracked concrete to welcome the rise of the man from the car. He was impeccably dressed, his dark suit expertly tailored to his thin frame. His polished cane made an appearance, the steel tip echoing through the bowels of the world as it touched down. He took a deep breath, the act causing an inaudible gasp from the earth. Sound and time was sucked from the street, vanished through his nostrils and was absorbed into his lungs. His eyes, deeply sunken into the harsh angles of his face, disappeared beneath pale lids, as he savored the smells and sounds of Chicago. He felt his stomach churn with self-manifested hunger, the aroma of street vendor wares delectable on his tongue. Wanting to wait no longer, he pushed off from the car and into the sidewalk traffic.

He was in no rush, delighting in the power of living beings surging around him. The human soul was amazing, something that he couldn't quite explain. He had reaped so many and his faithful minions had reaped even more. There was no way he could put a number on those he had personally ferried to their destinations. He was God's true counterpart. His job was to take God's created souls on their final journey. It was unfortunate he had been locked away for what felt like eons. He had heard he was too dangerous to be allowed to roam free. Maybe, this was true, but when he was locked in that cage, he hadn't asked a lot of questions. His siblings, well, he wasn't sure where they had been for all those years, certainly not trying to find him. Well, it didn't matter now, he was topside and pizza was waiting for him.

He moved as if no one else was there, strolling through the city he was literally bound to destroy. Lucifer, that little twit, in the midst of his childish hissy fit religious people called the Apocalypse, had summoned him, and freed him from his prison. As much as the horseman wanted the freedom, he wasn't actually free, was he? Lucifer's little resurrection spell had made him, well, the Devil's bitch. The only good thing, Death realized, was that there had been a lot of whispers about the Winchesters, and their little infatuation with his siblings' rings. This created a very interesting prospect for him, one that could signify his release, and allow him to keep walking the earth. And why not, really? He wasn't so dangerous. He was necessary, important. Without death, the world would be a pretty chaotic place.

A moment later he felt a rough shove against his shoulder, and the muttered curse of a man too busy to pay attention to anything but his cell phone. The man's brown overcoat blew back in the wind, his face screwing up in annoyance as his own oblivious path knocked him against the tall, thin, dark haired man with the cane. He muttered something distasteful and continued on his journey. The horseman paused for a moment, stopping to wipe the man's nastiness from the shoulder of his jacket, the brown overcoat just on the outskirts of his peripheral vision. The distracted man took a few more steps and then his face fell, confusion and something else etching onto his features. He faltered with the next step he took, collapsing in a heap on the sidewalk, a man running out to meet him as he fell.

As the man's heart exploded in his chest, prematurely maybe, but certainly deserved, Death didn't stop. After all, Death didn't stop for any man.


End file.
